COVERT : Spencer Reid (II)

03

In the dark room, I nibble on a nacho while Spencer leans over my brother. Bastien lies in my bed, wincing as Spencer touches his ribs, feeling along the bones off his skin. Of course, Dr. Reid has PhDs and does not practice medicine, but he does have field training for medical issues. He shines the small emergency flashlight in Bastien's eyes, and I feel my shoulders relax as I watch both his pupils dilate evenly.

At the end, Spencer passes me back the flashlight. I have to stuff the nacho in my mouth to take it, since my other hand is wrapped tightly in Bastien's. He doesn't complain, even though I'm sure my grip is hurting him.

"You're very lucky, Bastian," Spencer says. I think he knows he's not saying Bastien's name in the proper French way. "I don't think anything is broken, or that you are concussed. You should go to a hospital."

"I can't," he doesn't explain any further.

I glance at Spencer, just for a second, to offer him a quick shake of my head. Spencer notices everything. I'm sure he's seen my brother's knuckles. My stomach churns, as I try to imagine whoever did this to my brother, and if I hope they are alive or not.

"Seb-"

"They want to send me to Afghanistan."

I didn't think my grip on him could tighten. Yet, it does. The smell of the sweat and alcohol on his clothes and skin starts to ferment in the room. I can't tell what part is making me sick. Spencer doesn't move next to me, standing up above us. I wish he was closer, filling in the gap between me and the rest of the world. Spencer's always so close, but suddenly Bastien feels far away, and I need something in that space.

"Afghanistan?" I swallow. "I thought they had you on a special project."

"With the financial crash, they were hoping recruitment would've increased more," Bastien pulls himself up so his back rests on my headboard. I tell myself he grunts because I have one hand occupied, and that's what makes it difficult. "But it doesn't look great. They're going to ask me to go in January."

"When... it wouldn't be a full tour, would it?"

Bastien's face falls.

"Four years," Spencer whispers. The sound traces the shape of one thousand, four-hundred and sixty-one days.

I was gone longer, and I've only been back for three years, or about that. Four years. I know what that war does to soldiers. If it had to be any of us siblings, I wouldn't pick him. Stéphane is strong physically, maybe even more so than Bastien, but he couldn't be away from us that long. Caro may bark orders, but I can't imagine her taking them, or spending years doing manual labour. If it were possible, I'd take his place. It's not fair.

"Would going sooner get you out of whatever this is?" I whisper.

I try not to think about what happened. It helps that my imagination isn't very good.

Bastien shakes his head. He rips his hand from mine to wipe his eyes, covering them from my view.

"Let me fix it," I get in closer, resting my elbows on the bed.

Spencer puts his hand on my shoulder. Pull back. I can feel the suggestion through his palm. Spencer does interrogate people, interviews victims, investigates crimes, and so I should trust him. Fuck, I know about how he profiles more than anyone else. Yet, I can't listen. I want Bastien to tell me.

He shakes his head.

"S-"

"I'm a grown-up," he murmurs, muffled by his hands. "I'm a man. I can handle it."